9 Months Trilogy: A Novel of Horror and Suspense

by Matt Shaw

  Instead, we’re still a couple.

  A tear rolls, slowly, down my cheek.

  My brain must be allowing emotions to pass through once more. Good. Get it out of my system now before I have to break the news to Fiona. I need to be strong for her.

  Another tear.

  Come on, pull yourself together. Be strong.

  Be strong.

  I wiped both eyes and pressed my fingers into the corners of them to dry up my tear ducts. Okay, I can do this. Be strong. Mourn later.

  I stood up and walked a little way down the corridor, towards her private room. When I got to the door, I stopped for a minute before raising my hand to the handle.

  Take a deep breath.

  I pushed the door open.

  * * * * *

  Haven’t slept all night, just laid awake all night next to Fiona - thinking. I can’t believe Jessica is pregnant. And I can’t believe she’s contemplating getting rid of it.

  Clearly, she doesn’t know what she is doing.

  She hasn’t seen the bigger picture.

  This is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

  The best.

  Why does she not see that?

  Maybe she will by morning. Hopefully, by morning, she’ll see everything clearer. She’ll see she’s been blessed.

  I turned to Fiona.

  Sleeping peacefully.

  I’m glad.

  I’m glad this news hasn’t awakened her memories, like they awakened mine. I guess all the years of therapy did help, after all. Years of therapy and copious amounts of medication, at least.

  Whatever the reason - I’m glad she isn’t stuck in the past, like me.

  It’s a horrible place to be.

  She stirred and opened her eyes, slowly. She looks sleepy yet beautiful, when she sees me looking at her, and smiles. I smiled back.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “What time is it?”

  I glanced over to the small clock, on the bedside cabinet - “A little after three.”

  “It’s early! I don’t have to be awake for another two hours! Why are you up?”

  “Haven’t slept yet, was just thinking....”

  “Oh?”

  “Jessica....”

  She didn’t say anything.

  I continued, “Do you think she’ll ever forgive us?”

  2.

  “Please.... daddy.... I just want to talk, dad.”

  I hate it when she looks at me with those eyes - they pierce my soul right through to it’s core.

  “Please.... what are you doing?”

  I don’t say anything.

  I didn’t actually plan on her knowing it was me.

  I didn’t think she’d ever find out.

  Not with the hood.

  I don’t know what to say.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  Nothing to say.

  “FUCKING TALK TO ME!” she screamed.

  “Language....” I said. An auto-pilot reaction to her swearing. I hate it when she swears.

  “Fuck you!”

  “I said watch your language. Your mother and I didn’t raise you to.....”

  “Fuck you!”

  Starting to sound like a broken record. It annoys me when people repeat themselves. It annoys me even more when it involves swearing. Men can swear, if the timing is right. Women.... women shouldn’t swear.

  “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

  I slowly walked over to her. Her puppy-dog eyes are no longer piercing my soul. I raised a finger to my mouth, “If you don’t hush.... daddy’ll have to gag you....”

  “Fuck you!”

  I slapped her hard in the face and she fell silent straight away - her eyes now filled with the pain I’ve just caused her. I strange sensation surged through my body. What was that? Was that ‘pleasure’?

  I hit her again.

  Well, I’ll be damned. It is pleasurable.

  I raised my hand, ready to hit her again but stopped short of actually connecting to her face. She didn’t need another hit. Not now she was no longer swearing. I leaned in close to her ear, “Swearing is a sign of low intelligence...”

  I looked at her face - she looked like she wanted to say something so I stood up to my full height and took a step back. Give her a chance to speak.

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  She really does want to talk.

  “Please....”

  Okay.

  I sat on the edge of the bed. Another strange sensation surged through my body. Awkwardness.

  This is a weird situation.

  “I can’t let you get rid of the baby.”

  “I don’t want it....”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “What?”

  “I want your baby...”

  She didn’t respond; not even her face gave away what she was thinking - she just laid on the bed with a stunned look upon her face.

  “Darren wouldn’t allow it,” she said, finally. “He wants it. He wants it for us...”

  “Don’t worry about Darren.”

  “Where is he? Please, I want to see him?”

  I shook my head. She’s cuffed to an old bed, in the basement of one of the properties I am fixing up... did she really expect me to say ‘okay’ and run along to fetch Darren for her? I shook my head again. The second shake wasn’t so much to answer her request to see him. No, the second shake was because I couldn’t believe how stupid she was being.

  No daughter of mine.

  “You can’t keep me here - people will wonder where I am....”

  No, they won’t. I’ve made sure of that. A cover story to silence people.

  “Darren will want to see me....”

  I shake my head again. Even if I hadn’t had a quiet word with him, the last time they spoke together - she was horrible.

  “You can’t keep me here - not for the full pregnancy... I can’t stay on this bed, you have to let me move at some point.”

  I smiled.

  “It’s not good for the baby!” she cried.

  The first sensible thing she’s said since finding out she’s pregnant. Of course it’s not good for the baby!

  “Unnecessary stress you are causing,” she continued.

  “Not completely unnecessary,” I corrected her.

  “What?”

  “You were going to kill it. If I didn’t put you here... if I didn’t.... you would have killed it. At least, if it dies now - not that I’ll let it - but IF it did... at least it died with me trying to save it from it’s own mother.”

  She started to cry, “Please, you can’t keep me here!”

  “When you’ve calmed down a little, and can see what I’m doing - I’ll let you out, free to roam around to your heart’s content and, whatever you need - you just have to ask for it.”

  “I need to go home.”

  I smiled.

  She really is stupid.

  “This is your new home and, in time, your new home will include the rest of the house too, not just this room. You’ll like it up there - it’s a new build... middle of the country. There’s a nice sized garage, living room, kitchen, dining room, study upstairs, couple of bedrooms and a good sized bathroom too... I know how you love your baths too and - the bath in this place? Amazing...”

  She didn’t say anything and, again, we just stood there in silence.

  “I want mum,” she finally said.

  Now that... that I can help her with.

  * * * * *

  I held Fiona close to my chest as she continued to weep. The thoughts of Jessica killing her own baby being too much for her - after our own child was still-born all those years ago? The thought of another dead baby? Or, perhaps, she’s crying because she knows what a big mistake Jess is making and doesn’t want her to regret it in years to come.

  Fiona aborted her first child.

  A conception, before we met, between her and her ex-partner; aborted because they were too young
and it was an accidental pregnancy that neither of them were ready for.

  Years later, when her second was still-born... she blamed herself, believing she was being punished for terminating the first child.

  I hold her closer.

  Perhaps she’s worried Jessica will have the same experience should she get pregnant again, years later? Her next child will also be born lifeless.

  It’s times like these I wish I had more compassion in me. I feel bad for Fiona crying but, I don’t know what to say. Nothing I can say will make it better for her. It’s times like these I always rely on the calming influence of a hug.

  A kiss on her forehead - further proof I’m here for her.

  Her sniffles calmed a little and she pulled away from me, “We can’t let her do this.”

  I felt the same but short of tying her to the bed - what choice did we have? It was, after all, her choice. And the boy has made his intentions clear of standing by her side, should she have chosen to keep it so it’s not as though she was worried about being alone.

  I pulled her in close to me again and squeezed her tightly.

  “It’s not for me to....”

  “Please...”

  I don’t say anything; just give her another squeeze and kiss her on the forehead.

  “Okay, I’ll sort it.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” I confirmed - feeling my heart sink a little. A promise I’m not sure I can keep.

  Unless....

  * * * * *

  Nervously, I opened the door to the cellar. Fiona didn’t move at first.

  “She’s asking for you,” I told her.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can. It’s fine. Everything will be fine.”

  “You promised me you would sort it.”

  “And I am.... Go on.... she’s asking for you. She needs you.”

  Fiona looked at me. Can’t see what she is thinking, rather annoyingly. I need her to be on side for this. Especially after her initial reaction. I need her to be okay with what I’ve done. With what we’ve done. She can’t cave in. Or everything will be ruined. I nodded her towards the stairs again.

  Slowly, she stepped forward.

  “I’ll give you a couple of minutes alone and then I’ll be down,” I said. “Be strong.”

  She gave me a final look before walking down the cellar stairs. I heard Jessica call out for her, from downstairs.

  I closed the door.

  3.

  I walked down the stairs - nervous as to what to expect. Bryan stood at the bottom of them, patiently waiting for me.

  “Come on, quickly, there isn’t much time...” he said.

  “Much time for what?” I asked. “What are we doing here? Where is this place?”

  “Come on...” he waved his hand again.

  I felt as though my heart stopped when I got to the bottom and saw what he had done.

  Jessica.

  My daughter.

  Is she dead?

  “It’s okay,” he said - obviously sensing my unease. “She can’t hear us.”

  “What have you done?”

  “I’ve sorted it, like I promised I would....”

  Jessica was lying on the bed - cuffed to the headboard.

  “What have you done?”

  I rushed over to Jessica’s side.

  “Jessica?” I called.

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t even stir. She looked dead. Is she? I felt for a pulse. No. Not dead. I turned back to Bryan who hadn’t moved from the bottom of the stairs.

  “What have you fucking done?” I asked - unclear as to whether I was going to cry or just continue to get angry with him.

  “I had no choice. She wanted to kill it. She wanted to kill the baby. I did what I had to do.”

  “What have you done to her?” I turned back to her and stroked her face - a silly attempt to try and get her to stir but, again, there was no reaction. “We have to let her out.”

  “We can’t. You know, as soon as we do - she’ll terminate the baby.”

  “This isn’t right!”

  “Our baby.... we can raise it for her. We can raise the baby as our own - hear it call you mummy..... She doesn’t want it. You heard her. She doesn’t want it - she’ll let us take it.”

  “Not like this - this is wrong. We can’t keep her down here....”

  “We can.”

  “Whose house is this even?”

  “Ours.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry about that now. Can’t you see how this can work out for us?”

  “You’ve lost the plot!”

  “We can keep her here - make her have the baby... our baby....”

  “Stop saying that!” I feel a tear coming on. I’d love a baby. Ever since the death of.... ever since I didn’t have a baby - I’ve never stopped wanting one. Even after we adopted Jessica, back when she was a toddler, I always wanted my own baby. But not like this. We couldn’t.

  “Think about it - she wakes up - doesn’t even know it’s us who have her.... we keep her here and then she gives birth.... after she gives birth we can do a rescue - pretend we found her. We’ll take her home again, with the baby. We’ll raise it for her. As though it was our own baby.”

  No.

  It’s wrong.

  But.

  I wonder.

  Would it work?

  Could it work?

  He continued, “She never needs to know we took her - she’ll never know.”

  I don’t say anything. My mind is thinking a million and one different things. I know this is wrong but.... no, there is no but. It’s wrong. Don’t let him get away with this. Stop him. This is your daughter.... technically. Technically she’s your daughter.... or more to the point - technically she’s not your daughter... She is someone else’s. An unwanted child.

  I feel confused.

  “I can’t stay down here,” I said. He went to say something but I didn’t wait around for the answer - just ran up the stairs, into the strange house’s kitchen where I began to weep. I wish she never got pregnant. Nothing would have changed.

  This wouldn’t have happened.

  I felt a hand fall on my shoulder and span around to see Bryan. Was this Bryan, though? I’d never seen this side of him. My darling husband. When our baby.... when we.... he never showed any emotions. He never showed how he felt. Part of me felt as though he didn’t care that we lost.... It made me feel worse. Made me feel as though I should grieve for two.

  He must have felt something.

  Something must have happened to him.

  Something.

  Why else would he have resorted to this?

  Has something happened to me?

  Am I a bad person?

  The yearning to be a real mother so strong - part of me feels as though we could get away with this...

  “I thought you’d be happy...” he said.

  “You kidnapped her - how am I supposed to feel?”

  “She never needs to know it’s us.... never. You don’t ever have to come back here... Just leave it to me....”

  * * * * *

  My heart is beating as hard as it did the first time I came down these stairs and I feel sick.

  What am I supposed to say?

  What will she say?

  So much for never coming back here.

  A lie?

  Why did he let her get the hood off him? Now I don’t know what’s going to happen.

  Will she ever forgive us?

  “Mummy?”

  A scared voice.